1985 Touch - Take

Rob Boyte
December 1985


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And so the child's game goes,
Running and dodging,
Occasionally touching,
And for that brief moment,
Sharing the same space.  


Soap bubbles randomly drifting
In the breeze,
Colliding, bursting, or
With fluid reverberation
Bounce apart.


More often they touch
And join,
Two spheres changed
By a common plane
That binds them together.


Two fragments of the same fluid
Again merge as one.


I touch you
And you are part of me,
Good or bad, wanted or not,
You touch me
And take a part of me
And I, a part of you.

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